The Letter
by Miria
Summary: Col. Tavington's wife in England receives the news of his death. one-shot.


Disclaimer: Colonel William Tavington isn't mine sigh and neither is anything recognizable from "The Patriot" movie. Nor do I own Jason Isaacs to whom Tavington owes his looks. ;)  
- However: I **do** own Blanche, Turner, Will and Hawkins

A/N: My first fanfic!!! Reviews are always pleasing. Sorry for any grammatical mistakes in the text, English isn't my native language. 

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Lady Blanche Tavington, née Sutton, descended down the stairs of a beautifully decorated rococo-house in northern London, the place that had come her home during the past eleven years, though she was originally from the north of England.  
  
The house was owned by Blanche's husband, colonel William Tavington, who had sailed to America over a year ago due to the revolution in the colonies in North America. Blanche was the eldest daughter of a fairly rich lord of the English court and after her twentieth birthday eleven years ago she had been married off to a Colonel of the British army, William Tavington. It had been everything else except a love match – she had hated her husband from the first moment onwards. Sure, he was handsome enough, had awesomely beautiful – but cold – blue eyes, but Blanche knew what he truly was. Cruel, selfish and inconsiderate.  
  
During her marriage Blanche had watched her father-in-law gamble and waste away his manor in Surrey and the extensive grounds he had owned all around the country. Soon lord Tavington died with no more than 500 pounds that went to his son, and the Tavington-name was disgraced. The younger Tavington wasn't much better than his father. Over fifteen years ago William Tavington had been studying law, but had quit school and went to the army. He spent his spare time gambling and with the street walkers. Happily he had cut all of that after his marriage, not entirely, though.  
  
Blanche had endured her marriage well, and had kept speaking terms with her husband. But she had carried only one heir to him. A boy, luckily, who was now ten years old. Blanche never felt any strong feelings of maternal love for the boy. Young William – or Will, as he was called – had spent most of his childhood in the great manor of Blanche's mother. Will had a very loving grandmother, who was more than willing to look over the boy. The colonel had of course been overly enthusiastic that his first child was a boy and spoiled Will shamelessly. Blanche had no doubts that the boy would grow up being exactly like his father.  
  
"Lady Tavington?"  
  
Blanche looked at the housekeeper. "Yes, Turner?"  
  
"This was brought just some moments ago. The messenger said it to be urgent."  
  
"Thank you, Turner", Blanche said taking the note from her hands, "I'll just eat some toast and tea this morning. Would you please bring them to the drawing room?"  
  
"Yes, milady."  
  
It was early morning and Blanche had just woken up a half an hour ago. She was wearing a corset, petticoats, a panier, and the light blue morning dress. Her brown hair was on a loose braid, because she didn't expect anyone to call on her this early.  
  
She sat on a sofa in the drawing room and absentmindedly opened the letter. She read the short note and then her hands sank down to her lap and she stared into the distance.  
  
Her husband had died over two weeks ago, in a battle won by the American rebels.  
  
'This must be the moment when I'm supposed to weep and cry and not see anyone in a week', she thought, 'Damn him for dying! Now I'm forced to wear the widow's dress and be in mourning at least for a year.'  
  
Turner, the housekeeper, came carrying a silver tray and put it on the table. She cast a worrying look over lady Tavington.  
  
"Is it bad news milady?" she asked.  
  
"Well, it depends on how well you knew the man", Blanche replied, "My husband, the Colonel has died."  
  
"Oh!" gasped Turner, "Why, I'm sorry, milady."  
  
"Yes..." Blanche looked at her breakfast tray, "It seems that you have forgotten the marmalade."  
  
"Forgive me, milady."  
  
When she was alone again, Blanche felt a bit sad. She wasn't going to see her husband's lovely blue eyes again.  
  
'What will become of me now? And what about Will? He'll inherit everything there is to inherit. I only can hope there is a proper widow's pension on Tavington's will. Or perhaps I have to rely on my relatives for some years and then I'll end up marrying for money.'  
  
One thing had been good about the late Colonel – he had provided his wife a steady living and a house not to be ashamed of.  
  
Turner came with the marmalade and then left the lady of the house to herself.  
  
'Should I have travelled to the colonies with him? Should I have tried to be a better wife to him?' she thought to herself, 'No, Blanche! Don't try to make a saint of him now that he's gone. You hated him when he was alive.'  
  
After eating her modest breakfast, Blanche stood up and walked to her rooms and rang the bell. A maid came to help her dress. When she was ready, dressed in the most fitting black dress she found, she walked downstairs. There she stopped in front of a mirror and put on a black hat with mourning veil. Turner handed Blanche's gloves to her and said that the carriage had arrived, as ordered.  
  
"I shall be at my mother's, lady Sutton's, house if anyone comes to call on me", explained Blanche to Turner, "I have to tell the boy about his father's death. Not a job to be envious of. Well, I _am_ his mother after all."  
  
"My deepest condolences, again, milady", said Turner.  
  
"Thank you", was Blanche's simple answer. She stepped out of the door in her wide skirt and climbed to the carriage.  
  
"Where to, milady?" the driver asked.  
  
"Sutton Place, Hawkins", Blanche answered.  
  
-------------------------The end--------------------------------


End file.
